A Possible Conclusion
by karlalujah
Summary: A sort of sequel to Such Was This As It Should Be -but this can be a standalone, really- , House and Cuddy spend a night together post coitus.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** A Possible Conclusion  
**Pairing:** House/Cuddy in college, again  
**Rating:** R  
**Synopsis:** A sort of sequel to Such Was This (As It Should Be) (but this can be a standalone, really), House and Cuddy spend a night together post coitus.  
**Author's Note:** I really like College!House/Cuddy because it is more open to interpretation. I hope this does not suck as I thought this would be.

* * *

_ She was lovely in her afterglow._

In her afterglow, she was lovely.

She was gorgeous after they both…The moon sheds light on her feminine form as she…_She_ was quite lovely after some _fucking_.

Gregory House didn't quite know how to phrase it correctly; how to make an apt observation more poetic or _something like that_. All that he was concerned about was the fact that in his room, post-coitus, Lisa Cuddy was _beautiful_ and that there was no question about it. She was all pretty eyes and raven hair, naked skin and sweat-a woman satiated. And it was all because of him. He smiled wryly at the thought.

"My big, throbbing _cock_ wants to be in your sweet, wet, hot pussy again." He pleaded, cajoled, begged to sleep with her again. He didn't know if she was that good or if he was simply insatiable, or if he knew that this Would Not End Well.

"Your big, throbbing _ego _thinks that I want your decently-sized _prick_ inside me again," she mused.

"My decently-sized prick made you tell me to slow it down when I first—"

"That was because I was not happy with your technique," she told him flatly.

Greg House was infuriated and shocked, to say the least. Tell him he had a small cock, and he was fine with that. He could prove his masculinity in bed. But never, ever, _ever _tell him that he sucked at it, no pun intended. He sat up on his bed and huffed. She was being difficult. Again. Or as he would think, as she would always be.

"Never. Ever. _Ever._ Say that I am horrible in bed. You cheeky liar." She jumped slightly as he slapped her exposed derriere for emphasis.

"I was _kidding_," she tried to assure him. He was pouting quite sexily and she refused to be turned on. Even for quite a bit. She was afraid that it was all about sex to him. _Just sex._ And she couldn't. She couldn't handle the probable truth.

She pulled at his sheets and wrapped herself with them. It was getting cold and it was getting late. She still wanted to talk and pretend that this would go on forever.

"I just said that because I hate those types of descriptions. Where'd you get them, anyway? A romance novel? From your friend at the Laundromat?" She really was annoyed with the words big, throbbing, sweet, wet, hot, and well, _cock and pussy _strung together like that.

"I just talked dirty to you and you didn't appreciate any of it? You surprise me, Lisa Cuddy."

"You shouldn't be. I think you should've expected me to want to talk after we, you know…"

"After we what?" he pressed. Was she uncomfortable? With sex? Of all people in the _goddamn fucking_ world. He didn't know what was with him but he found it cute. So he smirked at her.

And she couldn't look at him. Not like this.

"After we had sex!" she told him testily. _Fine._ She was embarrassed about sex. He shouldn't just point it out. It made her squirm uncomfortably at the end of House's bed. "After we slept together. After we _fucked_. Happy?"

He didn't expect such an extreme reaction from her. At once, he was paralyzed with how helpless he was. After that, he was paralyzed with how helpless he thought she could be. He decided to rub circles on her bare back instead. He tried to soothe her, to calm her, to do _whatever_. At this point, he was close to doing almost _anything_ just to make Lisa Cuddy happy. If he wasn't already whipped, he didn't know what he was.

* * *

_And that was Part I. _


	2. Chapter 2

_Shorter chapters might probably do the trick, I think?_**  
**

* * *

Lisa Cuddy knew, that without a doubt and without anyone telling her, she was uncomfortable with certainty.

It was all Ted Hughes's fault. Really, it was. Could she help it if she asked Ted if he was named after Sylvia Plath's husband? She was curious and not flirting. Surely, it was not flirting. But the douche-y Comm. major decided to take an interest in her anyway and decided that she, Lisa Cuddy, would be one of his survey respondents for his undergraduate thesis. And that was when Lisa Cuddy, Biochem major and Jewish girl, ticked off all the boxes and answered all the questions the young Ted Hughes had. And that was when he concluded that Biochem majors, which she (and twenty other respondents) represented, had no "comfort with uncertainty".

Lisa Cuddy was not certain with Gregory House. She wasn't sure what it was with them. She wasn't sure why she stalked him. She wasn't sure why she was _really _in Endocrinology. She wasn't sure why she wasted time in the damn Laundromat. She wasn't sure why he affected her so much like _that_ in the bookstore. She was certain that she wanted to be in med school. She was certain that she would be a Biochem major during her stay in Michigan. She was certain that she would be focused.

Now she wasn't.

Now she was here—with him, beside him, naked with him, after sex. And now he knew how uncomfortable she was with sex. She wasn't sure (again, that damn uncertainty) if her prudishness with sex was because of Barbra Streisand in _Funny Girl_ (she really loved that movie and Omar Sharif) or because she saw her mother and Daddy sleeping together (she wanted to remove that from the very core of her brain). She wasn't sure why she wasn't a virgin anymore, either, even before she met Greg House. Now, he brought her back to extreme self-consciousness and hypersensitivity to whatever comment he gave her. She wasn't sure if it was her hormones.

"Hey," Greg broke her reverie. She noticed that he was still rubbing her back. Was he _fucking_ soothing her? "Lisa Cuddy. Don't worry. You were really good anyway. Really good."

"Don't patronize me," she said, feeling a little like an eight-year old.

"Of course not, darling," he cooed. "Honey, of course not."

"Fuck you."

"That's the idea, yeah."

And at that note, she decided to sit beside him with a thin sheet wrapped around her frame. She pinched his arm forcefully. Emphasis on the forcefully.

"You fucking, fucking, fucking asshole."

He wasn't flinching but was simply grinning at her slightly. As a response, he just caressed her side and said, "You know what's weird, Lisa Cuddy?"

"Is it you calling me 'Lisa Cuddy' despite _everything_ we've been through?"

"No, silly. It's the fact that you're so hot and apparently, great at making love or whatever you ladies call having sex, even if you are really a prude."

"Am not," she said, enunciating her words carefully. She completed that statement with a determined look on her face. Even if she was naked as the day she was born. She hoped that it didn't diminish the gravity of the situation.

"You are." Now, he held her hand.

"Let's change the subject. Please. _Please,_" she whined.

"Ugh. Fine." Greg rolled his eyes at her. The jerk. "McDonald's, Kentucky Fried, or Wendy's?"

"Really?" she told him, unimpressed. "That's your change of topic?"

"What's easier than a little Three Questions?"

"No. One question, multiple choice. Idiot," she corrected him.

"Oh. Right. Fuck. Multiple choice. Whatever. Answer the damn question, lady."

"O-kay. None. Arby's."

"Why do you need to negate everything?"

"Well, I don't know, Greg House." Somewhere, the gods of time took notice.

He kissed her. It was a long, languorous kiss. "I'd say you're just that type of girl, eh?"

"Probably am." This time, it was she who kissed him. Soft little pecks—short and sweet.

It was funny how they couldn't stop kissing. It was probably time for another round. However, they both decided to behave themselves. Somehow, they knew, this was not the time. It was not all about sex, and each of them had a clue. Sure, sex may be a big part of their relationship-thing-whatever right now, but they both wanted something more. It wasn't just sex. It wasn't just fun. It wasn't always going to be fun. But they wouldn't tell each other what they really thought, not really.

In another lifetime, or maybe in twenty years or so, there would be a reckoning.


	3. Chapter 3

_Alas, fate has brought us to the last chapter. Thank you for reading, enjoying (hopefully), and reviewing!_

* * *

He never thought of settling down—not with anyone. Not with anyone. But now, with her; just like this, he might even want something more. Gregory House was sure that Lisa Cuddy would be for him. Of that he had no doubts. Of that he could not quite admit. Of that he could not quite face. But she—_the Woman_, was different. She made him want something he never would have wanted. She made him want to be better, even. And what that implied, he was scared of. Here he was, with a girl he barely knew, and he was already seeing a glimpse of their possible life together. They'd probably have kids in their thirties. Sex would always be good—would always be hot. He would always have fun with her and she would always be difficult (and vice versa). She would always be his and she would always be difficult to figure out.

And that definitely excited him. It was not just novelty or a thrill of the mystery for him. She was real and tangible, and he felt, in his tiniest heart of hearts, that she would always be there.

Suddenly, he had a bad feeling about this. He wanted to get away. He wanted to deflect. Or die. Whichever option was better. But he couldn't.

"What are you planning to specialize in, anyway, Lisa Cuddy?" he asked her. They were lounging in his one-bedroom apartment, eating stale French fries and drinking bottles of Corona. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning.

"Uh. I haven't really… I haven't really thought about that. I was thinking surgery, but—"

"Boobs," he suddenly said.

"What?" she was puzzled.

"Your boobs are going to distract the patient. They might have heart attacks once they look up your—"

"Oh, shut up." She smeared ketchup on his face with a greasy piece of potato slice. He tried to lick it, but he couldn't. So he decided to wipe his face on the shirt she had on. It was an ugly, ugly _Goonies _shirt he used to keep as a lanky teenager. He brought it to Michigan with the hopes of meeting Sophie Lee on campus. That was before Lisa Cuddy and human history. He would never admit it, but the truth is, he had the propensity for sentiment.

"Well, that's better than dermatology."

"What's wrong with dermatology?"

"Well, that's not _real_ doctoring. That won't be a challenge for you. I think you'd love a challenge. Am I right or am I right?" he waited for her to reply. He was sure he was right.

"I'm…" she trailed off, hesitating. "I'm liking endocrinology so far."

"Really?" he was genuinely surprised. Endocrinology was difficult, he had to admit. Details, details, details. The girl was probably anal-retentive and a perfectionist—great for this specialty, indeed. "You should find out, then. So you'd know what to major in or something. I'm not quite sure." He was eating the last few slices of potato and painting a Rothko or a Pollock on the plate _("Sunrise with Lisa Cuddy", in ketchup on porcelain plate_). He hated trying to help, and now he was bumbling with specialties and medicine. _Damn it. Damn you, Woman_.

"I never really thought of that. Um, thanks?" Cutest of cutest things to do, Lisa Cuddy tilted her head to the side and scratched it. He wanted to kiss her. He had always wanted to kiss her. He always wants to kiss her. Past, present, future, present perfect. Whatever grammar tense there was, it was totally appropriate at this point.

"Don't need to thank me, Lisa Cuddy." He looked at her earnestly and really kissed her with all the feeling that he had. Excitement, anxiety, something akin to love or like or whatever it was, amazement. It was all there. In lips and tongue, in palms and fingers—it was all there. And she accepted everything and gave everything back.

But time will have other plans because time is a curse.

"You really like me, huh?" she smiled bashfully at him.

"What. Of course not," he chuckled.

Commence an eye-rolling sequence from the master (Mistress) herself. With a mixture of amusement and irritation, she asked him a question for the ages. "Why do you need to negate everything?"

He grinned at her and kissed her again. "I don't know."

The gods of time took notice. They wrote it down in a book because there would always be a time of reckoning and repetition.

"Ha. Okay. Someday, I think I'll get an answer."

"Why do you think there'll be a someday, Lisa Cuddy?"

"Because I said so. So shut up."

"Way to woo a guy."

"Why should I? You should be doing that to me instead."

"Well, I negate everything, right?"

"So you're saying," she began cautiously, "that you don't like me?" She didn't look at him, but at her toes instead. Electric blue nail polish seemed _very _interesting.

"Of course I do. What makes you think—"

"If you like me, prove it." And at that, there came an uncomfortable silence brought about by debts and promises, of things that might not happen. The silence was heavy, and the two were waiting. It wasn't about who will cave or who will give in first. But then again, it might be.

"Why? You already put out for me." So he was the first one to give in. Talk about head over heels in like. Love is too grave a word.

"I won't do it again." Threats and more threats. This might be their future.

"I made you come three, four times!" Bargaining might be, as well.

"Not anytime soon. And Gregory House? _Fuck _you."

He kissed her neck. "Please. I'll do anything." Whether it might be true or false, he was pretty sure it was close to veritable when he said so.

"Lose your lacrosse match. Lose it for me." Lisa Cuddy was serious. Lisa Cuddy was unbelievable. It only showed Gregory House two things.

"You're fucking crazy and fucking gorgeous."

"_Lose it for me._" She really was serious.

That night, he was indomitable in the resolution that he, Gregory House—will lose the University of Michigan intercollegiate lacrosse match for a girl. He'd play badly. Tomorrow, tomorrow. There would always be tomorrow. He was going to lose. Just to prove that he would do anything for her.

And he did lose. He lost by default.

The next day, he got a call from the College Secretary's office regarding his inevitable expulsion. The Wolverines lost one of their star players and Lisa Cuddy lost Gregory House (and vice versa). Mondays. Hateful days for lacrosse matches and star-crossed lovers.

But there would always be reckoning, they thought.

* * *

_The End. _


End file.
